


In Thine Own Heart

by EmHunter



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Boys Kissing, Falling In Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Poetry, Power Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Rent Boy Katsuki Yuuri, Rentboys, Sex Education, Shameless Smut, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Virgin Victor Nikiforov, YOI Regency Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24192418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmHunter/pseuds/EmHunter
Summary: Lord Victor Nikiforov knows nothing about physical pleasures and is given time with a rent boy of his choice.This is how Yuuri comes into Victor’s life, a rent boy from London’s most exclusive establishment, one of its best kept secrets.A gift bestowed on Victor by his best friend for a limited time.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 110
Kudos: 407
Collections: YOI REGENCY WEEK





	In Thine Own Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangryuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/gifts).



> This was written for Day 4 of YOI Regency Week 2020 and the prompt 'Falling in Love Over Societal Borders'.
> 
> **Trigger warning: this contains racism and mention of homophobia in historical context (British Empire)!**
> 
> Thank you to FrozenBrownie for help with the history (all mistakes are my own, not hers). 💞 Thank you also to Kam for raving over all those snippets and always cheering me on so hard. ❤️ 
> 
> This is for [theangryuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse). Because her Concubine and my Rent Boy are like children who were born around the same time in the same hospital and then started walking and kindergarten together. Only her child grew up much faster than mine, who is only now ready to go out into the world. She loved this idea from the moment I said “I want to write rent boy Yuuri... but I have no time... oh, but what if Victor was a virgin?? ... oh god, I _love_ them already!!”
> 
> Thank you for your patience, Franzi. I hope you like the finished version. It’s what I do best - smut, and plucking the heartstrings painfully until the happy ending. ❤️
> 
> Poems quoted and recited in this story are by W.B. Yeats and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
> 
> Soundtrack to this story - one of the poems set to music in [this song](https://youtube.com/watch?v=Vr6S2XOfkQg).

It was, as so many things in Victor’s life, Christophe’s idea. For a long time he had listened to his friend raving and romanticising about the endless hours of pleasure he frequently enjoyed in a very exclusive establishment in Mayfair. For an even longer time he had withstood Christophe’s attempts at persuading him to come along and experience some of the pleasures himself. Until his most recent birthday, when Christophe had decided quite unceremoniously to simply gift him with the time of a rent boy of his choice, claiming he deserved distraction from work and some pleasure. He had been nervous ever since.

The truth was, Lord Victor Nikiforov knew nothing about pleasure.

Having lost his parents when he was just about of age, he had come into his inheritance of vast estates in Kent and generous riches. Ever since then he had lived in their large London townhouse on his own and busied himself with the running of his estates and various businesses his father had engaged in. He had no interest in socialising but rather went to the theatre or an art gallery or the opera instead. His rare free time he preferred to spend in his large library, reading and trying to study foreign languages that might be useful for trade. He was a clever businessman and very charming with people, and yet Christophe was his only friend.

He was, of course, very aware of what an odd one out this made him in their circles. Only his name and standing, as well as the odd rumour here or there about tragic love affairs with beautiful women on the continent that he had Christophe and his household staff spread throughout London, prevented him from even more marriage proposals than he already received.

“I thought this was some exclusive establishment.” Victor frowned as he looked out the carriage window.

“It is, but we need to go somewhere else first.” Christophe leaned comfortably back in his seat, or rather, as comfortable as the bumpy cobblestones in this part of London allowed. “The owner demands a clean bill of health from a physician of her trust before one gets to touch her boys.”

“Did you not tell her that…”

“I did,” Christophe sighed. “But how many times do you think she has heard those words and they were never true? I cannot blame her for making her own rules. Her boys are special. Not like ours. They are refined and gentle. Clean. Exclusive. And they know tricks English rent boys have never heard of.”

Victor blushed profusely. Like he would be able to tell the difference.

“Ah, here we are.” Christophe nodded after a glance past the curtain Victor had drawn back.

The carriage came to a halt.

Victor nearly lost courage when he was brought up the back stairs in one of those clammy alleyways in these parts of the city that people like them never frequented. A door was opened on the second floor of the building after a pattern of knocks that Christophe seemed to have memorised like a secret code. The rooms were surprisingly clean, and they sat on the single two chairs in a narrow hallway.

“At least it is discreet,” Victor murmured to Christophe.

The physician, a tall Italian man with hair much too long and an accent much too thick for the back streets of London, stepped out of a door that opened out from the hallway. He nodded at Christophe like at an acquaintance, but Victor had no time to wonder how many times his friend might have come here already for he was beckoned into the examination room.

After a physical examination that left Victor feeling highly uncomfortable and longing for a bath, he found himself in the equally embarrassing situation of having to answer questions about his most private of lives.

“Last time you were intimate with a man?” the man asked gruffly.

Victor flushed crimson. “You ask for this, directly?” He tilted his head in the slightest challenge, irked despite his embarrassment. “You ask not when I was last intimate with a woman?”

“I do this for Minako. I know what her patrons are.” The physician laughed. It sounded hollow.

“Last time you were intimate with a man?” he repeated the question, more impatient now.

Victor lowered his head. “Never,” he murmured. “I have never… been intimate with anyone.”

He stared at the well-worn floorboards, willing them to open up and swallow him whole.

The Italian physician stared at him for a long moment, unsure whether to believe him or not. Then his booming laugh sounded through the room. Bent over a piece of paper on his desk, he muttered to himself, something that Victor thought sounded like “Minako will love this one!”, though he couldn’t be sure with the man’s thick accent.

The physician was still laughing when he saw Victor out into the narrow hallway where Christophe was waiting.

All the way home, Christophe left him in peace, sensing Victor’s embarrassment and slight annoyance over the situation his friend had landed him in.

_& & &_

His mood had not completely improved by the time they arrived outside a stately townhouse that same evening. Victor knew he was mostly nervous, yet the smug expression on his friend’s face did not help ease his mind. He held him back with one hand on his arm as Christophe already stepped up to the door.

“Christophe, I swear, if this is one of your opium dens, I will…”

“Victor.” He turned around, mirrored the action by placing one calming hand on Victor’s arm in turn. “You are my most trusted, most dearest friend. Would I do anything that brings you harm?”

One of Victor’s fair eyebrows rose like in meaningful contradiction.

“Yes, there might have been one or the other occasion, when I have gotten you in trouble,” Christophe relented. “We were very young. Or inebriated. But I would not when it comes to this. Never about this.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Victor nodded. He dropped his hand and followed Christophe through the door.

Inside, it looked much like every other evening entertainment all over London. People were talking and smoking, playing at cards while quiet conversation and laughter rang from room to room. Somewhere a pianoforte was being played. It was only at second glance that one noticed the cautious looks of interest. The stolen touches. The extra attention that was being paid. It took another moment for other truths to sink in. All the people present were male. And those who served drinks or placed a tentative hand on an arm, those who leaned in to whisper close to ears and whose gentle laughter at meaningless smalltalk rang through the rooms like the soft curls of smoke, all those had dark eyes of a more or less prominent almond-shape.

“Christophe.” Victor paused abruptly and held his friend back by the arm. “They are all…”

“I know.” A small complacent smile played around Christophe’s lips. “I know your taste, my friend. You take great interest in the new trading routes to Asia and the exotic treasures they bring.”

“You do not have to put it quite like this!” Victor hissed, embarrassed.

Christophe chuckled quietly and placed one arm around his shoulders, moving him along to the other side of the room. “That aside, these boys are more suitable for your needs, trust me. They are kind and gentle, not cocky like those English ones who make a pass at you in the streets. You need someone kind and gentle. This is why I brought you here.”

Victor tried to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

“Lord Giacometti!” A woman who looked to be in her forties, if one should be so bold as to guess at the age of a lady, approached them with both arms stretched out in a very unconventional manner. “Good evening!”

“Dear Minako! How nice to see you again.” Chris stepped forward with his arms wide open. She clasped his hands and accepted a kiss on each cheek, making Victor wonder at the fondness and intimate knowledge these two seemed to have of each other. Clearly his friend frequented this place far more often than he had let Victor in on.

“So this is your friend.” The woman, Japanese as Victor believed from her features and the light accent in her otherwise quite polished English, moved away from Christophe and stepped closer to look at Victor in the light of the many lamps of the salon they currently found themselves in. “When you told me he was beautiful I was sure you were exaggerating like you were about so many other things.”

Christophe placed one hand on his heart, feigning a wound. “I would never exaggerate about anything!”

“This is not what Phichit tells me.” Her face remained serious, only her eyes sparkled with amusement.

Much to his own surprise, Victor found himself laughing.

“Lord Nikiforov, I believe it is?” She held out her hand and accepted a chaste kiss on the back of a gloved hand. “Welcome. I believe I do not need to introduce you to the rules of this place. Christophe will have told you everything you need to know, and the business side is taken care of.”

A nod was exchanged between her and Christophe.

“Please enjoy your evening, and if one of my boys strikes up your interest, feel free to approach him and let Christophe know so that we can finalise the arrangement.”

Victor’s face was glowing pink but he nodded faintly at her words.

“You must point out this Phichit to me,” Victor quietly muttered to his friend as they walked to the next room. “I would not want to choose the boy who is your favourite for lack of better knowledge.”

He could feel the eyes on him as they walked slowly from room to room. He kept close to Christophe’s side, noting well how his friend nodded at what must be familiar faces to him. True enough, despite the interest he clearly raised, nobody approached him as openly or aggressively as had happened often enough in the streets when he had just called on the shops to have a new hat or clothing made and where there were always rent boys lingering around calling out for the attention of a passing gentleman.

Here, they were spoilt for choice. But some of them, and his heart sank at the realisation, were so young.

It was in the last room they entered, a library from the looks of it, that Victor froze in the doorway.

A young man jumped up from an armchair and hurried over from the other side of the room. Phichit, Victor knew without introduction, simply from the way he approached Christophe and addressed him with so much flirty openness and familiarity. Victor was introduced, looked up and down from dancing brown eyes, and met with a smile like the sunshine in a face of slightly darker complexion, though Victor did notice the hand very well that found its way into the crook of Christophe’s arm, placed there by a boy who did not want to be picked, and accepted by his friend who did not want him to pick this particular boy either.

They need not have worried for Victor’s eyes were almost instantly drawn back to the young man sitting on an ottoman by the fire, his gentle face illuminated by the flames as he bent over the book in his hands.

He seemed strangely out of place, like he did not care at all about the patrons who came into this room and whose attention he was supposedly meant to attract. The book he was reading was clearly his priority.

Victor, however, instantly felt attracted. By the quiet demeanour of this young man, by the fact that he retreated to a library, by the soft pink glow in his cheeks and the way his dark lashes came to rest against his pale skin when he blinked behind his dark-rimmed glasses. By the fact that he held a book in his hands like a precious artefact and was more fascinated by the words he was reading than by a duty he was expected to perform. A kindred soul, Victor thought and his heart was skipping in his chest even though he knew it was not meant to do so for he was very aware of where he was and who this young man was.

As if he felt his gaze upon him, the young man looked up from his book and straight at Victor. His eyes had the same almond-shape as those of the other rent boys in this establishment. And yet, there was something else in them when their eyes met across the small distance. Surprise, for sure, like he saw something in Victor’s face he had not expected. And a spark of determination that brought a smile onto his face.

“I see you have made your choice, my friend.” Christophe sounded smug beside him.

Victor merely nodded. A smile worked its way onto his face as he left his friend’s side and started walking over to the fireplace, where the young man was lowering the book into his lap and moving into one corner of the ottoman to make room as if he had been waiting just for him.

It was like this that Yuuri came into Lord Victor Nikiforov’s life.

A rent boy from London’s most exclusive establishment, one of its best kept secrets.

A gift bestowed on him by his best friend for a limited time.

_& & &_

On the first night Yuuri laid down the rules.

He would not do anything he did not want to.

Victor was fine with this, after all, his experience was limited to non-existent, he barely knew what he wanted himself in the first place.

He did not kiss on the mouth.

Victor felt a little regret over this but he guessed this was some kind of honorary code among prostitutes. When you sold everything else about your body, to keep something so intimate to oneself was probably reasonable. It still made him feel sad whenever his gaze caught on Yuuri’s beautiful, plush lips. They looked so soft, so gentle.

He would not tolerate pain or degradation, nor marks on his body.

Victor was shocked at this having to be pointed out. Who could possibly feel pleasure exorcising pain or marks on someone as pure and beautiful as Yuuri? Or any other person, for that matter?

He was to have daily baths.

Victor nodded, Christophe had arranged for that with Victor’s household staff already.

He would come to Victor’s chamber every night at an appointed time and leave when they were finished. He would never stay until the morning.

Victor had expected nothing else.

“Now tell me… what do you like, my lord? How do you like best to be pleasured?”

Heat rose in Victor’s cheeks at Yuuri’s question.

“Will you please call me Victor?” he asked, licking dry lips. He knew he was stalling, merely postponing having to answer Yuuri’s question.

“Of course.” Yuuri nodded softly. “But how would you like me to take care of you?”

Oh, he liked the sound of that, Victor thought, but he knew this was not what Yuuri meant.

“I…” He lowered his eyes. “I am afraid I have no preferences… I do not know. About physical pleasures. I believe Christophe pointed this out to Minako?”

The embarrassment was almost unbearable. He was aware of every breath that left his chest. He heard a quiet hiss from Yuuri, a low murmur of “This is _true_?” It made Victor look up, curiosity raised. Yuuri seemed flustered, genuinely surprised, and perhaps a little anxious.

“If this is causing a problem, perhaps you would like to exchange places with another one of Minako’s boys…” Victor’s heart was bleeding with every word he spoke, but this arrangement was already embarrassment enough for the both of them, clearly. If he could help Yuuri by not having to _ask_ to be replaced, perhaps…

“No.” Yuuri shook his head. “No. I am sorry.”

A gentle smile transformed his thoughtful face. It made Victor’s heart skip in the funniest ways.

“I just did not expect…” Now Yuuri seemed timid. “Normally, when someone claims to be inexperienced, they are merely acting. To see how we handle the issue. They always betray themselves when they touch me and their experience shows, usually much more experience than I can handle.”

He winced, and Victor felt outraged on his behalf.

“I can assure you, there is no danger of that with me.” He laughed, but it didn’t sound joyful. “You will find I am quite useless in the bedroom.”

Yuuri looked at him for a very long moment.

“Let _me_ be the judge of that,” Yuuri said at last, his face unreadable but his eyes unspeakably kind.

Yuuri made him take off his clothes.

Victor felt exposed, standing naked in the middle of his bedroom while Yuuri walked very slowly around him, looking him up and down. And yet, it was not unpleasant, Victor found. There was nothing unkind in Yuuri’s eyes as he took in the sight of him. He didn’t feel appraised, but appreciated.

“Let me see you, too.” Victor was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

Taking two strategic steps back and holding Victor’s gaze with his own, Yuuri untied the belt of the dressing gown he was wearing and let the burgundy silk slide to the floor. He was completely naked underneath.

Victor held his breath. Yuuri was beautiful. And Victor was reacting.

Yuuri breached the small distance between them again, acknowledging Victor’s physical reaction with the briefest of glances that made Victor feel glad and astonished. Yuuri moved around him, slender fingers caressing over Victor’s skin, following the curve of his neck and shoulders, brushing his nipples that instantly hardened and made Victor hiss with pleasure and the need to have them touched more. Yuuri noticed and paused, a knowing smile pursing his mouth as he draped one hand down Victor’s waist and slid it behind him, down one firm buttock, before he moved further around Victor and stood behind him, and both his arms came around Victor. He did not stand close enough for Victor to feel more than the touch of his hands, but he could feel the warmth emanating off Yuuri’s body.

Victor moaned, helpless, as Yuuri’s fingers found his nipples and worked them between his fingertips, the sensations sending acute thrills throughout his whole body. Yuuri exercised more pressure, reacting to the sounds of lust leaving Victor’s mouth, until pleasure verged on pain and Victor’s breath grew more erratic and his cock began twitching.

“We shall put this on the list of things that bring you pleasure, shall we?”

Yuuri’s voice, a soft murmur. Yuuri’s mouth, a gentle kiss between Victor’s shoulder blades. Yuuri’s arousal, a barely there brush against Victor’s arse as he leaned in to bring his mouth close.

Victor came, much to his humiliation, and embarrassingly fast.

Yuuri stopped him when he started a string of apologies and edged away from him to where he had draped his clothes over the back of a chair earlier, in order to cover himself. Yuuri stopped him with one hand on his arm, a warm, gentle hand that made Victor turn to face him again. Yuuri shook his head and silenced him with one finger placed over Victor’s lips.

“Do not ever feel embarrassed about this happening. Do not apologise,” Yuuri told him.

His hands on Victor’s upper arms exorcised the slightest pressure and Victor moved accordingly, straightening up, squaring his shoulders under Yuuri’s direction. He still kept his head lowered, nervous to meet Yuuri eyes. One of Yuuri’s hands came up under Victor’s chin and raised his face to look at him.

“You are quite beautiful. There is nothing you should hide.”

Yuuri’s words touched on something very deep inside of Victor, something lying dormant he did not yet know. He watched Yuuri move through the room, walking tall and confident over to a bowl of water a maid had brought in earlier, on Yuuri’s request as Victor guessed now. Yuuri took a cloth from the bowl and wrung it, warming the cloth between his hands before he came back to where Victor stood waiting.

Yuuri cleaned him up, gently and without any embarrassment. Then he put the cloth back in the bowl and picked his discarded dressing gown from the floor in one elegant, flowing movement. He came back to Victor once more. Cupping his face with one hand, he ran his thumb over Victor’s bottom lip.

“Until tomorrow.” Yuuri smiled.

When he stepped away and tied his robe as he walked to the door, before he slipped quietly from the room with a soft “Goodnight”, Victor saw that Yuuri, too, was visibly aroused.

On the first night Victor fell asleep with a thrill in his heart and a smile on his face.

_& & &_

On the second day Victor sought Yuuri out in his room.

Yuuri had not come downstairs for breakfast and Victor wanted to make sure his guest was comfortable. He remembered the book he had seen in Yuuri’s hand the night he met him. Perhaps Yuuri would like to see the library so he wouldn’t feel bored throughout the daytime while they did not meet.

Victor knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he opened and entered carefully.

Yuuri was in the bath, looking up when he saw Victor walk in.

“Forgive me!” Victor quickly averted his eyes. “I shall come back later.”

He turned to go, the familiar blush already crawling up his neck and face.

“Stay!”

The voice in his back was firm.

They were alone in the room, the servants in this house having learned a long time ago that their young master liked his solitude. In return, he rewarded them generously for their loyalty and looked after them much better than most servants in London could pride themselves on.

The water moved in quiet lapping sounds as Yuuri rose from the bath.

All colour, air and probably sanity as well left Victor’s body.

Yuuri held himself proudly upright, his head poised, chin pointed in defiance. His frame was slender but he squared his shoulders, adding angles that led into a sinful curve of slender hips. 

“Do you like looking at me, my lord?”

Victor’s head whipped up from where he had been trying to concentrate on the cast iron claws of the bathtub instead of letting hungry glances lap at Yuuri’s body.

“We did establish what you were to call me, did we not?”

“Forgive me.” Yuuri looked down, demurely. Victor couldn’t say why this humble gesture irked him. He had grown up with servants bowing to him, and he knew what Yuuri was, yet he did not want Yuuri to be subservient towards him.

Yuuri placed one hand on his hip, the simple movement changing his whole stance, his whole attitude. The next time he spoke, it was all confidence.

“Do you like looking at me… Victor?”

Victor walked very slowly around the bathtub, taking his time looking and appreciating.

Pale skin flushed from hot water. Sparkling, deep brown eyes. Sensuous full lips. Blackest hair messily sticking up from his head. Nipples that were the cutest dusky pink within dark aureolas. The curve of his hips made Victor want to reach out and draw them with his hands. His stomach was taut yet seemed soft at the same time. Walking slowly behind him, Victor drank in the paleness of his legs, the thickness of his thighs. His breath caught in his throat. The perfect roundness of Yuuri’s arse that had Victor struggling to keep his hands to himself. Victor walked on around the long side of the tub and came back to the front. Eyes trailing from the soft roundness of Yuuri’s stomach to the patch of black hair and the lightly quivering cock, the colour a little darker than the rest of Yuuri’s pale skin.

Victor’s face was burning, not unlike when he had a fever, as he looked up slowly and into Yuuri’s eyes.

“Very much, Yuuri.” His voice was laced with emotion. “I like looking at you very much.”

Yuuri’s smile was enigmatic. “Did you come to see me for a particular reason or just to catch a sneaky glance at me in the bath?”

“I would never…” Victor started, but went quiet when he saw the smirk on Yuuri’s face as Yuuri lowered himself back down into the bath.

A smile worked its way onto Victor’s face. “Do you care for reading, Yuuri?” he asked.

“Very much.” Yuuri sounded breathless all of a sudden, taken by surprise.

Victor’s smile deepened. “I thought perhaps… I could show you the library.” He blushed.

“For you to use in the daytime while you are here. Unless you have… plans.”

Oh, how he hoped he didn’t. After just one night Victor already couldn’t imagine his lonely house without Yuuri in it anymore.

“I would like that very much. Victor.”

“I shall wait for you in the salon downstairs.” With a satisfied nod, Victor headed for the door. He was just reaching for the knob when he remembered something and turned to come back.

Water splashed when Yuuri, who had very obviously been just about to immerse his head under water, shot up in the tub when he saw Victor come back. Parts of his hair stuck wet to his neck while it was still a tousled mess on top, and he spluttered out a little bath water.

Victor couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

In the tub, a most delicious flush of pink spread from Yuuri’s face down his neck and chest.

“I am sorry.” Victor tried to speak but he was still laughing. “I just remembered that you did not have breakfast. Would you like one of the maids to serve you breakfast here?”

“I…” Yuuri cleared his throat audibly. “Forgive me, I must have slept through breakfast. I… like to sleep. I am afraid I am not a morning person.”

Victor smiled. Cocked his head. “Whenever you are hungry, just ask one of the maids. Cook is under instructions to feed you whenever you ask.”

The way Yuuri’s eyes widened could only be read as stunned disbelief. How curious, Victor thought, how the tables were turned in the daytime, when the caution and timidness was all Yuuri’s, and the self-assuredness was all his. Well, almost.

“Take all the time you need, Yuuri.” Victor opened the door once again. “I shall be downstairs whenever you are ready.”

He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him without a sound.

_& & &_

On the second night Yuuri pleasured Victor with his hands.

He took his time working Victor’s nipples again until they ached from overstimulation. Kneeling beside him on the bed where he had Victor stretch out naked before him, he ran his hands over every inch of Victor’s body. Yuuri took the time to note every single reaction he brought forth, until he had Victor panting and his head thrashing on the pillow, damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead and temples.

Only then did he even touch his cock. When Victor brought his arm over his eyes Yuuri pulled it away, demanding he let him see his face.

Victor knew he was a mess, his face flushed and glistening with sweat. The sounds he made, clipped, hasty gasps and breathless moans he could not stop even if he had tried to. Yuuri’s hand felt so good, the way he fisted around his cock and stroked up and down with a steady rhythm. Victor groaned when Yuuri brought his hand to his mouth and licked all over it, then returned it to his cock and the new slickness added only to the sensation. Victor felt his hips buck off the bed as he thrust helplessly into Yuuri’s hand, unable to restrain himself. The feeling was too strong, the urge to chase release clouding his mind completely until only lust and Yuuri’s quiet encouragement found room.

When he came, he clamped one hand over his mouth for fear of calling out Yuuri’s name.

Yuuri gave him some time to calm down, wiped him down with the cloth from the washing bowl again.

Then he asked him to turn over.

And Victor understood why Yuuri had brought the jar of oil.

He was glad for the pillows in his bed for they drowned out the sounds of acute bliss that wrung from his throat as Yuuri used his fingers on him, bringing him more pleasure than he would have thought it was possible for one man to feel.

_& & &_

On the third day Victor noticed that Yuuri would try to sneak buttered rolls or lumps of cheese from breakfast in napkins under the table and hide them in his room. The napkins would reappear later or the next day, crumbs still clinging to them. Victor frowned when one of the maidservants informed him of this, one finger poised against his lips. He wondered how Yuuri had grown up, what hardships he must have suffered, and his face fell.

“I need to speak to Cook,” Victor told the maidservant. “Come with me, please.”

_& & &_

On the third night, Yuuri taught Victor how to pleasure himself.

“For when you next think about me bathing.” He smiled, and it looked wicked and made Victor blush.

“But… one is not meant to… it makes one ill.” Victor was confused.

Yuuri looked up from where he was already kneeling beside Victor on the bed. An amused smile was playing around his lips.

“Is it... not true?” The words were a mere whisper.

Yuuri shook his head.

Victor watched, concentrated and with hammering heart, how Yuuri wrapped the fingers of one hand around his half hard cock and slowly stroked him to full hardness. He had not paid so much attention to this last night but now Yuuri told him to watch and learn. And he was quivering under the touch of Yuuri’s hand, biting his bottom lip and trying not to come too fast.

But Yuuri, after two nights, already seemed so familiar with the way Victor’s body worked. He released his hand and left Victor trembling, trying to catch his breath. Waited patiently for Victor to calm a little.

“You do it now.”

Victor closed his fingers around his cock like Yuuri had shown him. He gasped at the double sensation, not only having his cock gripped but even more so by feeling his own silky flesh in his hand.

Yuuri was watching him closely, giving quiet commands.

“Close your fingers, just tight enough that you can feel yourself filling your hand. Can you feel it?”

Victor nodded, unable to take his eyes off of his own long, slender fingers locked tight around his cock. Tugging skin down to the base exposed the thick head, pearly liquid seeping from the slit.

“Use your thumb,” Yuuri murmured.

Victor circled the head with his thumb like he had seen Yuuri do. He moaned quietly.

“Taste yourself.”

Victor flushed crimson but he brought his fingers to his mouth obediently.

Yuuri looked on, enraptured, moaning low at the back of his throat. He looked envious of the taste on Victor’s tongue. His own cock was pulsating, angry and red against his stomach.

“Yuuri…” Victor murmured, mesmerised by Yuuri’s arousal. “Yuuri, will you touch yourself for me?”

For a long moment Yuuri just looked at him, then he leaned forward on the bed and took Victor’s other hand from where he was kneading his own thigh most desperately. He brought it up to Victor’s chest and Victor’s other hand back down to his cock. Only when he found Victor was touching himself to his satisfaction did he lean back on his heels and took his own cock in hand.

Victor could not take his eyes off of Yuuri’s hands stroking himself, and not off of Yuuri’s face and the delicate flush of arousal that spread from his cheeks down his neck and his pale chest. He was sure he would never forget the cadence of Yuuri’s frantic breathing or the small sounds of lust that spilled from Yuuri’s lips. Or how their eyes locked when they both tumbled over the edge and spilled over their hands.

Yuuri smiled when he wiped Victor down with the wet cloth again, but the blush in his cheeks was the same as Victor’s.

“Do you… have to go already?” Victor asked carefully when Yuuri returned the cloth to the bowl.

Yuuri hesitated. He looked at his dressing gown that he had draped over an armchair, then at Victor. He came back to the bed and perched on the edge. Victor had moved up on the bed, leaning back into the pillows. He felt tempted to cover himself but he remembered Yuuri’s words from the first night, when he’d told him not to hide, so he fought the urge to reach for the blanket.

“There is another thing…” Yuuri blushed more. “Though perhaps I will show you another night.”

Victor sat up straighter in bed. “Now. Show me now!”

“As you wish.”

Victor’s eyes widened when Yuuri moved around until he was braced on his hands and knees at the foot of the bed, the perfect shape of his arse on display for Victor. They widened even more when Yuuri dipped his fingers into the jar of oil and brought them round behind himself, between his plush butt cheeks.

Victor stared, fascinated, panting, while his body reacted to the sight in front of him. His mouth became dry. Yuuri had done this to him the previous night. He hadn’t been aware this was something to give oneself pleasure. He watched, chest rising and falling with heavy breathing, how Yuuri used his fingers on himself.

Yuuri looked back over his shoulder, locking eyes with him.

“Touch yourself,” Yuuri whispered.

Mesmerised, Victor reached down on his body. He found his cock half erect and stroked himself to full hardness under Yuuri’s watchful eyes. The room fell away and only their moving hands and their quiet sounds of pleasure remained in existence as they looked at each other and saw nothing else.

Victor was surprised to find release again so soon but he was overwhelmed. By Yuuri. He felt guilty, too, because Yuuri had not come again, but Yuuri himself didn’t seem to mind. He climbed off the bed, all his movements fluid and elegant as he went over to the washing bowl once more, took the cloth and wrung it before he brought it over the bed to gently clean Victor up.

“The water is cold now. I am sorry,” he said with a timid smile.

“It does not matter,” Victor muttered. He felt weak and spent, and reluctant to let Yuuri go.

Yuuri slid the dressing gown over this shoulders once he had put the cloth back in the bowl. He turned in the open door, wishing Victor a soft “Goodnight” before he slipped from the room and closed the door without a sound.

“Goodnight, my Yuuri,” Victor whispered into his pillow.

On the third night Victor barely found any sleep as he thought about Yuuri, touching himself.

_& & &_

On the fourth day Yuuri joined Victor in the library after his late breakfast. He slipped quietly into the room, and their greeting was hushed, while the memory of the previous night rang so much louder in both their minds.

Victor saw that Yuuri had the same book in his hand again he had seen him with before.

“Do you like poetry, Yuuri?” he asked, nodding at the slim volume of Yeats poems.

“Those were my mother’s favourites,” Yuuri replied. He sat down in one of the armchairs by the window. “I do not understand a lot of them, but she liked me reading those to her when she… shortly before…”

He fell silent, looking out the window. The words wouldn’t come, and Victor didn’t pry. Instead, he rose from his own chair and walked over to one of the bookshelves, reading through the titles on the back of what looked like brand new books until he found what he was looking for and pulled it from the shelf.

He crossed the room with a few strides and held the book out to Yuuri.

“Mr Yeats’ latest volume of poetry,” he explained. “Perhaps you will find some new favourites in there.”

Yuuri took the book with quiet thanks, eyes wide with surprise behind his glasses.

Victor went back to his chair and picked up his novel again, and soon silence settled over the library, the only sounds the occasional soft rustle of the pages of a book being turned.

_& & &_

On the fourth night Yuuri used his mouth on him.

Victor was moving restlessly on his bed, damp and darkened strands of hair plastered to his forehead, by the time Yuuri’s mouth left his nipples after licking and sucking and gently biting them into oversensitive angry red buds that made Victor hiss at even the softest touch. He rose on his elbows to watch with held breath how Yuuri moved slowly down on his body.

Yuuri’s mouth felt so warm and soft on his skin, drawing a wet trail of kisses and kitten licks down Victor’s stomach that not for the first time Victor felt regret because Yuuri refused to kiss on the mouth. He longed to kiss Yuuri like he had never longed for anything in his life, not even for more of those precious moments of intimacy.

Victor’s breath came in short, ragged huffs and his chest was trembling with eager rise and fall when Yuuri’s lips closed around the head of his cock. He bit his bottom lip for he feared the sounds that wanted to break from his throat were more that of a whimpering being in great pain than human. The sensation of feeling the wet, hot heat of Yuuri’s mouth around his length was unbearable. Yuuri held the base of his cock with one hand and Victor’s gaze with the sheer power in his deep brown eyes as he very slowly inched more and more of the throbbing flesh into his mouth, lapping playfully with his tongue. Victor moaned, he couldn’t hold in his voice any longer. His hips grew restless on the bed, the instinct to thrust into this delicious, maddening heat that was Yuuri’s mouth suddenly overbearing. Yuuri noticed and held him down with one hand sprawled over his stomach as he sucked him deeper until Victor felt him breathing hot and ragged through his nose where it touched the hair at the base. Yuuri worked his way back up just as maddeningly slowly and Victor couldn’t take his eyes off of his own cock, emerging from between Yuuri’s lips glistening with wetness.

Yuuri stroked with his hand up and down the length a couple of times, the slick friction driving Victor crazy, as did the sight of Yuuri darting his tongue around the head of his cock in an almost obscene dance. And he hadn’t known he needed the indecency of the wet, sloppy sounds Yuuri made in his life, but apparently he did, for he felt instantly addicted.

Yuuri reached up for one of Victor’s hands and placed it on top of his head. A small smile flashed up when Victor gripped a handful of Yuuri’s hair tight with his fingers.

And then he let Yuuri have his way with him and just held on, his other hand fisting desperately in the sheets. From hooded eyes he watched, panting, moaning quietly, how Yuuri’s head bobbed between his thighs, gave himself over completely to the power of Yuuri’s tongue and the maddening heat of his mouth and the delicious vibrations of Yuuri humming softly around his length.

“Yuuri…” His voice sounded strange to him, so whiney and urgent. “Yuuri, I am too close, I…”

The words died in his throat when he saw the almost devilish determination flare up in Yuuri’s eyes, felt the pressure of suction intensified, and felt himself tense up and release most powerfully the next moment, a flush of embarrassment mingling with the glow of arousal across his body because he was painfully aware he had spilled in Yuuri’s mouth and Yuuri was swallowing greedily, Yuuri’s tongue was dancing a lustful dance of lapping up every single salty drop he had to give.

Flushing crimson, Victor let himself fall back onto the bed and squeezed his eyes shut tight, emotions battling on his face, a smile of utter bliss desperately wanting to break free.

When he felt able to face Yuuri again, Yuuri had not moved much. He was still propped up between Victor’s thighs, a smug smile playing around his lips, his eyes shiny with happiness. Victor fervently wished to be able to hold on to this image forever, to conjure it up in all his lonely hours that he knew awaited him.

_& & & _

On the fifth day Yuuri talked about his mother. They were in the library, as had become their routine.

It was a simple question, about one of the poems she had loved so well, that had Victor find an atlas on one of the shelves and the both of them bent over the map trying to find the Lake Isle of Innisfree of the poem Yuuri had read to her so many times.

“She was very ashamed of having to live in poverty,” Yuuri said suddenly without lifting his head from the atlas. Victor didn’t let on his surprise about the sudden change of topic.

“So she tried to raise me with pride. She always tried to keep everything clean. She hated the dirt of our street, of our whole area. But she always walked those streets with pride. She always looked immaculate. She mended our clothes so daintily one could barely see how often they had been mended.”

When he looked up, his eyes were shining, though Victor couldn’t say if it was pain or fond memories.

“Whenever she could, she would draw us a bath. Those were the best times.”

Victor smiled when Yuuri did. “So you have always been fond of bathing, have you, Yuuri?”

“I believe I have. My mother told me when I was very small she would just put me in a bucket with water on the table and I was the happiest baby in the world.”

A shadow clouded his face. “When she started coughing, we were both gripped by fear. She tried to ignore it but we lived in those streets, with no privacy. We knew which cough was a cold and which one was consumption.”

Victor watched Yuuri lower his head again, watched him watching his own fingers moving from one small island to the other on the opened page in the atlas on the table before them like joining dots. Victor gave him time. To think. To find words. If he wanted to.

“I had heard rumours,” Yuuri said quietly, his eyes on his moving fingers. “When you grow up on the streets you hear a lot of things. I had heard about this lady. Japanese, like my mother. Like… _us_. I went to her house and asked for work. I wanted to buy medicine for my mother. There was not much I had to sell.”

Silence prevailed for a long time. Victor looked at their hands on the opened atlas page, lying close together but not touching. Yuuri had stopped joining the last island to the other ones, stilling the path of his hand when it came close to Victor’s like he was afraid to touch.

“Did your mother… did she know?” His quiet voice sounded unnaturally loud in the silent library.

“She did.” Yuuri’s voice was almost a whisper. “I felt she did not want me to do it but then… she told me about _geisha_ and _oiran_ in Japan. Like she wanted to give me something from her home that made it look less like…” He swallowed, Victor watching the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Less like something dirty.”

Yuuri frowned at his hand, still on the page of the atlas, like he could see dirt clinging to it that was only visible to him. Victor covered the missing inch with his hand and placed it over Yuuri’s on the page.

_& & & _

On the fifth night they read poetry.

It was Victor’s request, but Yuuri seemed only too happy to comply once the first surprise wore off. Victor did not want to think about what other clients asked of Yuuri that this would surprise him so much.

“Will you read me your favourite poem?” Victor asked.

They were both in their dressing gowns, seated at opposite ends of Victor’s bed with a small pile of books near the pillows, though Yuuri had his beloved volume of Yeats poem in his hands again. Victor already knew that he would never be able to look at this book again without considering it Yuuri’s.

“I can read you my favourite part,” Yuuri agreed after chewing on his bottom lip for a bit, thinking. “It is just a part of a poem, but I have felt connected very strongly to it since… a lot of things happened in my life.”

Victor gave him a small nod of encouragement.

Yuuri found the page with ease; the book must have been opened many times on this particular page.

“I told you I do not understand a lot of what I think is a spiritual meaning in these poems,” Yuuri told Victor, and a faint blush came to his cheeks. “But this reminds me of how I feel… when I see myself.”

He cleared his throat, straightened his glasses on his nose, and brought the book closer to his face.

Victor recognised the poem from the first few words Yuuri read out loud. They reached into his heart like dark, clammy fingers, pawing at everything that was good, twisting and tainting and making him want to weep if this was really how Yuuri, this beautiful, pure, smart Yuuri, saw himself.

_Gaze no more in the bitter glass_

_The demons, with their subtle guile,_

_Lift up before us when they pass,_

_Or only gaze a little while;_

_For there a fatal image grows_

_That the stormy night receives,_

_Roots half hidden under snows,_

_Broken boughs and blackened leaves._

_For all things turn to barrenness_

_In the dim glass the demons hold,_

_The glass of outer weariness,_

_Made when God slept in times of old._

_There, through the broken branches, go_

_The ravens of unresting thought;_

_Flying, crying, to and fro,_

_Cruel claw and hungry throat,_

_Or else they stand and sniff the wind,_

_And shake their ragged wings; alas!_

Yuuri stopped reading. He lowered the book to his lap, and his gaze with them.

Victor watched him, shaken, unable to speak. But he moved. Crawled forward on the bed until he knelt right in front of Yuuri. He brought one hand under Yuuri’s chin and forced him gently to look at him. All his pride and confidence he displayed night after night as he taught Victor pleasures he had never believed possible were gone from Yuuri now, seeped from his sunken shoulders and his sad, sad eyes.

“You missed out the best part,” Victor told him, his voice husky. “Let me finish it for you, and show you the part of yourself you cannot see.”

He took the book from Yuuri’s hands and started with the lines Yuuri had, deliberately as Victor believed, missed out on purpose.

“‘Thy tender eyes grow all unkind: Gaze no more in the bitter glass.’”

He gave Yuuri a long, meaningful look, then turned back one page and started to read the poem from the beginning.

_Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,_

_The holy tree is growing there;_

_From joy the holy branches start,_

_And all the trembling flowers they bear._

_The changing colours of its fruit_

_Have dowered the stars with merry light;_

_The surety of its hidden root_

_Has planted quiet in the night;_

_The shaking of its leafy head_

_Has given the waves their melody,_

_And made my lips and music wed,_

_Murmuring a wizard song for thee._

_There the Loves a circle go,_

_The flaming circle of our days,_

_Gyring, spiring to and fro_

_In those great ignorant leafy ways;_

_Remembering all that shaken hair_

_And how the wingèd sandals dart,_

_Thine eyes grow full of tender care:_

_Beloved, gaze in thine own heart._

“… ‘Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.”

The book started trembling in Victor’s hands and his voice became quieter and finally silent when he watched Yuuri’s face. The moment when Yuuri’s hard fought over composure crumbled as he heard those words read out to him, to _him_. The fact that Victor could _see_ in Yuuri’s whole posture how he felt he did not deserve them. The sounds of his snivelling sobs that came in quicker and quicker succession when he failed to hold them in. The tears shooting from his eyes because they would not be contained no matter how hard he tried to hold them back with the heels of his hands.

On the fifth night, Victor held Yuuri in his arms for the longest time, spreading his blanket over the both of them as the fire died down and the room grew cold. Murmuring a wizard song of soothing words of praise and comfort in Yuuri’s bright red, glowing ear, until Yuuri’s sobs subsided and his tears ran dry, and he slipped from Victor’s bed first and then from Victor’s room, barely taking the time to put on his dressing gown.

The look that he gave Victor before he closed the door said what they both knew - that Yuuri might flee Victor’s bed and his rooms and his house and his presence, but never his heart.

On the fifth night, once Yuuri had run from his room, Victor cried.

_& & & _

On the sixth day Yuuri noticed that there was always a tray of snacks available wherever he was. In the library where he spent his afternoons. In his room when he got ready for the evening’s work. Another one when he returned from Victor’s chambers. In the morning when he woke up, before he even went down to breakfast. It became unnecessary for him to hide food from the breakfast table to save for later.

The little boy inside him who had so often gone hungry wanted to cram everything in his mouth at once.

The young man he had become sat down by the window and thought of the man he knew was responsible for his always being fed and felt his heart do the most ridiculous things in his chest.

_& & & _

On the sixth night Yuuri asked Victor to pleasure him.

Victor felt his heart jump like mad in his chest, then was overcome by shyness. He sat up straighter where he leaned with his back against the propped up pillows at the head of his bed.

“What do you like, my Yuuri?” he asked. “How do you like best to be pleasured?”

Yuuri seemed surprised, either by Victor calling him his, or by hearing his own question from their first night repeated back to him, or both. Nobody had ever asked this of him before. He seemed to contemplate for a little while, then he joined Victor on the bed and crawled up close to his head. Victor watched, stunned, how Yuuri swung one of his legs over his chest and inched closer and closer on his knees, until his hands came to rest on the headpiece of the bed and his cock, half hard and quivering, was level with Victor’s face.

“Give me your mouth.”

Yuuri’s command was quiet, but Victor knew he would have done everything this voice commanded. He brought up one hand into the small confinement between them and started stroking Yuuri to full hardness. Remembering how Yuuri had done this two nights ago, he took one first, tentative lick of the thick head, sampling the pearly liquid seeping from he slit. He hummed low in his throat with appreciation, loved the heady, salty taste he had never experienced before. He closed his eyes to breathe in Yuuri, musky and intimate and delectable after his recent bath.

Victor tilted his head back and found Yuuri looking down at him, acute need in his eyes.

“Take your pleasure, my Yuuri,” Victor said, heart in his throat. “As much as you want.”

Then he moved his mouth to sample more. And Yuuri moved his hips.

Afterwards, when Victor was resting quietly with his eyes closed, never wanting Yuuri’s taste on his tongue and the memory of Yuuri’s cock using his mouth to leave him, Yuuri moved down on the bed until he came to lie by Victor’s side and his face came to rest in the crook of Victor’s arm. One of his hands sneaked down on Victor’s body until he found his cock and brought him off with a couple of well timed strokes. Victor sighed when he came. It sounded like Yuuri’s name on his lips.

There was no resistance or hesitation left in Victor the next time Yuuri spoke.

“I want to be inside you, Victor. That would give me great pleasure.”

The moment Yuuri said the words Victor knew he would do anything, _anything_ for Yuuri.

And so he found himself on his hands and knees, moaning out loud when he felt Yuuri inch his way inside his body, but he didn’t hear it, because he only heard the breathless sounds of acute pleasure Yuuri made. He knew Yuuri had taken great care in preparing him, reaching into the jar of oil again and again to coat his fingers as he worked and stretched him open with a patience that told Victor that this, too, using his fingers on him, was giving Yuuri pleasure in a way Victor could not understand.

If he still felt the lightest sting or burn it was drowned out by pleasure within mere seconds because Yuuri moved inside him so carefully and yet so passionately as if it was meant to be. Victor felt full, stretched beyond the boundaries of his very self and craving every new emotion and sensation he was possibly able to take from the moment. He felt taken, and he loved it, loved being filled and _had_ by Yuuri, loved being Yuuri’s, if only for a little while. He closed his eyes to feel more, to hear the sounds they made even louder, the huffs and grunts and moans and whimpers they filled his bedroom with and that he knew he would never ever share with anyone else again in this room or any other because he felt like he was giving himself, so completely that when Yuuri was gone from his body and from his life, there would be nothing left of Victor because Yuuri was taking it all with him. He squeezed back tears when he felt the warmth of Yuuri’s chest against his back because he suddenly felt like a warm blanket was spread over his body, over the cold sweat that was drying on his back and making him shiver from the chill. Yuuri’s hand came around his body and fisted around his cock. Victor was hard again, aroused up to the brink of pain, and he told himself fervently to memorise the feel of Yuuri’s hands jerking him off and if it was the last thing he ever did, just in case. Just in case.

Victor felt heat explode inside him when Yuuri cried out, and heat on his face when he came at the same time and was overwhelmed by tears.

They collapsed on the bed together, a sticky mess in the chilly room because Yuuri seemed exhausted, so it was Victor who scrambled from the bed and walked over to the washing bowl on shaky legs, wrung the wet cloth and brought it back to the bed where he began to clean Yuuri up, as gently as Yuuri normally did for him. He took the cloth back and joined Yuuri on the bed once more. Under the blanket he pulled over the both of them, he let his hands wander and explore every inch of Yuuri’s body, from top to bottom and back to front, and then he started all over again but used his mouth.

Mapping him to his memory, this first body he ever touched. And the last, too, Victor decided.

_& & &_

On the seventh day, Victor was surprised to see Yuuri at breakfast.

He was blurry-eyed and very sleepy, a little grumpy perhaps, but he was _there_.

Smiling, Victor buttered a roll as Yuuri liked them and pushed the plate across the table towards him.

_& & &_

On the seventh night Yuuri gave himself to Victor.

Yuuri guided him gently, their fingers working side by side as he showed Victor how he needed to open and stretch his body to prepare him for his cock. He admitted he had already done some of that himself before he came to Victor’s room, andthe knowledge that Yuuri had already known this was going to happen when he opened the door made Victor feel all giddy and trembling inside. He felt nervous. He hoped his body would not let him down. Would not let the both of them down.

Victor was breathing heavily when they got him ready together, both their hands slicking up his rock hard length with oil, until Yuuri decided it would be enough. Victor was surprised when Yuuri did not want to do this like they had done the night before, when he had let Yuuri take him. Instead, Yuuri lay back on the bed and pulled Victor with him until he lay between Yuuri’s spread thighs.

Overwhelmed, Victor dropped his face into the curve of Yuuri’s neck, wetting his skin with his desperate breathing and the frantic whispers of Yuuri’s name. The feeling of Yuuri’s tight heat around his cock was almost more than he could bear. Every time Yuuri clenched around him he felt close to spilling, unused to the sensation of being sheathed so tightly. Victor lifted his head. He wanted, no, he needed to see Yuuri’s face, needed to see the flush of arousal and the sheen of sweat and the lust in his eyes, needed not to miss even the smallest expression or sound of pleasure. He pushed the thought of anyone else ever having been blessed with this sight far, far away from his mind because it would make his heart shatter, and he was already so close to it bursting into a million pieces.

Yuuri’s hands came up to caress his face, pushed sweaty silver strands of hair from Victor’s face and wrote every curve and dip of Victor’s features with trembling fingertips like he wanted to be able to draw him blindly. Yuuri’s hands found Victor’s and entwined their fingers tight as his legs wound around Victor’s hips and pulled him deeper and deeper, heels digging into Victor’s waist. Victor wanted them to bruise. He wanted to carry Yuuri’s marks forever.

They moved together, faster, more urgently, became louder as pleasure became more than they could handle, until they crashed together, forgetting who or where they were or who could possibly hear them.

It took a long time for Victor to remember his own name. It didn’t matter. What was his name to him if he could hear the pounding of Yuuri’s heart under his face? He lay with his nose and cheek buried against Yuuri’s chest, lapping up sweat when he teased with his tongue. One of Yuuri’s hands played lazily with Victor’s hair. They were under the blanket again, hot skin on hot skin hiding from the chilly room.

“I cannot bear the thought that other men got to do this to you.”

Victor said the words that threatened to burst his chest.

It was a long time before Yuuri spoke.

“I never let any one of them do _this_.”

_& & &_

On the eighth day, the servants giggled and whispered all over the house. They fell silent when Victor walked into a room. The moment he was gone they would start all over again, the happiness and amusement over seeing their young master happy and in love putting a spring in their step and an ease to their work.

_& & &_

On the eighth night, Yuuri did not wear his dressing gown.

They went up to Victor’s rooms together after dinner, their favourite books of poetry from the library in their hands. Their free hands brushed as they headed up the stairs, and they withdrew them quickly, though when Victor cast a cautious glance at Yuuri beside him, he could see the same faint blush he could feel on his own face. He wondered if Yuuri’s heart was skipping in his chest as much as his own was, too.

Stripped out of their clothes and only remaining in their shirts that were so long that they reached way over their thighs, they started reading poetry to each other like they had become fond of doing, sitting at opposite ends of Victor’s bed or lying side by side. Yuuri let his legs dangle in the air behind him every so often. It always made Victor pause and stare, such an innocent gesture of total ease that reminded him of carefree childhood days laying in the grass, childhood days that he knew Yuuri had never had the luck to experience.

“Are Mr Yeats’ new poems to your liking then?” Victor asked after he had read Shakespeare’s _Sonnet No. 18_ out loud and found Yuuri staring at him all flushed and wide-eyed, until their eyes met and Yuuri quickly dove nose-deep into his own book again.

Yuuri nodded as he looked up now at the question. Behind his glasses, his eyes shone.

“Would you like to read me your favourite one?” Victor felt he could do with a break himself.

After a moment’s thought Yuuri nodded, leaning back on his heels as he leafed through the book until he found the page he was looking for. He looked at Victor once again before he took a deep breath and began to read.

_Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,  
Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
Of night and light and the half light,  
I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._

Yuuri looked up and straight at Victor as he said the last line. He didn’t have to read it. He knew.

Silence spun between them like an invisible net being wound closer and closer, tighter and tighter. Victor didn’t know how he was still breathing, with all the impact of emotion pushing down on him. On them, he was sure, had heard it in every single word Yuuri read to him. An unspoken truth was present in the room with them like a person of its own. The echo of Yuuri’s poem lingering like it was waiting for its answer.

“Can I read you my favourite poem too?”

“Yes, please, Victor.” Yuuri said after holding Victor’s gaze for the longest time. He scrambled to a sitting position on the bed, cross-legged with the shirt pulled down to cover his groin as modestly as he could. 

Victor picked up the book he had already lying facedown beside him, open on the page he needed.

Again they spoke with just their eyes, hoping to convey what they knew a rent boy and a lord were never meant to say to one another out loud.

Victor cleared his throat. He fought back a nervous smile. Then he gave his answer.

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways,_

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_

_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_

_For the ends of being and ideal grace._

_I love thee to the level of every day’s_

_Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light,_

_I love thee freely, as men strive for right._

_I love thee purely, as they turn from praise,_

_I love thee with the passion put to use_

_In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith._

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

_With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,_

_Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,_

_I shall but love thee better after death._

On the eight night, Yuuri stayed until the morning, sleeping peacefully in Victor’s arms.

_& & &_

On the tenth day, Yuuri quietly joined Victor in his study. Bent over his work, Victor did not mind Yuuri’s silent presence, not even his closeness when he stepped behind him and looked over his shoulder at his work.

“You do business with Japan,” Yuuri remarked quietly as he picked up a letter from Victor’s desk.

“Amongst other countries, yes.” Victor put down his pen and looked up at Yuuri. “It is one of the new routes my late father took an interest in exploring.”

“Do you speak the language?” Yuuri asked with a smile.

Victor blushed. “I tried learning but I find it very hard.” He cocked his head. “Did you speak Japanese with your mother, Yuuri?”

Yuuri nodded. “My writing is probably very rusty, but I still speak fluently, and I can read it very well.” He looked like he wanted to say something else but stopped himself at the last moment.

“I will need a Japanese tutor,” Victor remarked, looking at the papers in front of him on his desk like he was reading carefully when they both knew he was not reading the words at all.

Yuuri didn’t say anything, he merely made a low humming sound in the back of his throat.

Victor smiled over the papers on his desk.

_& & &_

On the twelfth day, Victor’s household staff could not stop talking about the quiet and very handsome Asian man who greeted them all with so much polite respect and who made their young master so very happy.

_& & &_

On the twelfth night, Yuuri made Victor laugh.

They had enjoyed some wine with their dinner, a new sort that had come with one of the recent shipments to the warehouse. Victor had noticed right away that it was much heavier on the palate than the wine he was accustomed to and went much faster to the head.

Victor was lying on his bed, resting on his elbows, still wearing his shirt even though it was bunched up around his waist. He couldn’t remember when he had lost his inhibitions, but it certainly had been over the past couple of days, and it had been thanks to Yuuri.

Yuuri, who was currently parading around the room in front of Victor’s bed, glasses crooked on his nose, hair sticking up in all directions, his shirt equally loose on his body. He held their current favourite book in his hand, which he was reciting poems from, interrupted by his own giggles, in an exalted and dramatic manner that was certainly not what Madame Barrett Browning had had in mind when she wrote them.

It was delightful, this much happier and even more charming Yuuri a glass of wine or two unleashed. Victor’s heart was singing at the sight of him.

“‘When our two souls stand up erect and strong’…” Yuuri read out loud.

He lifted the hem of his shirt and looked down, looked back and forth between their bodies.

“This sounds about right.”

Victor fell back giggling and blushing on the bed, painfully aware of both their arousals.

Yuuri closed the book and placed it carefully on the bedside table before he joined Victor on the bed. Victor felt the familiar catch of breath whenever Yuuri joined him on the bed. This had never changed since the very first time, despite them having engaged in so many physical pleasures since then. He felt the same anticipation, the same eagerness to see their shirts gone and feel Yuuri pure and warm against his body.

But Yuuri, now, just lay down beside him with one hand caressing his face like Victor was the most interesting exhibit in a new museum he had recently discovered.

“I have never heard you laugh,” he said, looking at Victor with a wondrous smile and dancing wide eyes that reached every neglected corner deep inside Victor and brought it out in sound and joy. “It is beautiful.”

“There was not much to provoke laughter in my life, my Yuuri. It was quite dull.”

Yuuri’s eyes sparkled like the happiest night sky. “ _I_ will make you laugh, Victor!”

_& & &_

On the twelfth night, Cook and Butler, the oldest servants in the house who had already been in the service of Victor’s parents, brought their glasses of brandy together over the kitchen table with a cheerful clink, smiling and celebrating the fact that for the first time in years, the sound of their young master’s laughter was heard through the lonely house.

_& & &_

On the thirteenth day, Christophe called on Victor. He was led into his study, where Yuuri rose from the second chair behind the desk and retreated quietly from the room. Christophe waited until the maidservant who was serving them tea had withdrawn and closed the door behind her.

“He is still here?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Victor’s hand stilled midair, tea cup halfway to his mouth.

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

Christophe coughed pointedly. “I paid Minako for one week only.”

Victor set his cup back down without drinking. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut, and the nausea rose up in him and clutched at his heart with ice cold fingers.

“Christophe!” He stared at his friend wide-eyed. “I must seek out Minako immediately and reimburse her!”

He felt itchy in his seat and would have loved to jump up and head out right away.

“She is out of town until tomorrow morning,” Christophe said with the nonchalance of someone who seemed to know Minako’s lifestyle like a good friend. Nursing his tea, he watched Victor over the brim of his cup. His friend seemed changed to him. For the better, yes, but in his heart, Christophe began to feel the buds of doubt whether his gift had really brought Victor happiness.

“Victor, be careful.” Christophe’s expression was very serious as he put down his empty cup. “I would tell you not to fall in love but I fear I am too late already.”

Victor gave no reply. Christophe sighed.

“You know what he is,” he reminded him quietly.

A spark of defiance flared up in blue eyes.

“I find that a very bold statement coming from you, my friend. Knowing that you go back to Minako’s establishment at least once every week for the sole purpose of being with a young man from Siam exclusively.”

Christophe had the grace to blush. And he knew that as quiet and gentle as his friend was, he could be the most stubborn and determined scoundrel Christophe had ever come across.

_& & &_

On the fourteenth day, Victor went to call on Minako.

She received him in her study. “You have come to make the missing payments, Lord Nikiforov?”

“I have indeed. I beg your pardon, but the nature of this… arrangement was not made known to me until yesterday.” Victor looked like he would in any business meeting as he handed her the envelope across the desk, even though mortification flared up in deep inside him. He despised having to talk about Yuuri like one of the goods in the warehouses.

“No!”

They swung around at the sound of the voice from the door. Victor’s eyes widened. Yuuri was _here_? Victor had assumed him to be sleeping long as usual, reading in the library like he had taken to do.

“I thought you would come here after Lord Giacometti came to see you yesterday. I thought you would call on Minako today to reimburse her for the missing days.” Yuuri looked angry.

Victor felt himself blush. How did Yuuri know him so well after their few days together?

“ _I_ chose not to come back,” Yuuri said defiantly. “It was not your doing, _you_ do not have to compensate for _my_ decision! I will take care of this myself.”

“And how, pray tell me, will you do this, Yuuri?” Victor asked, one eyebrow raised.

Yuuri seemed a little taken aback, unused to Victor being anything but soft and gentle. “I will find a way!” He huffed before he turned away from the door of Minako’s study.

Minako had watched their exchange without a word, but she smiled when Victor turned to face her again, his expression a mixture between distress and impatience.

“You do not have the experience, Lord Nikiforov, or you would notice that Yuuri is different from the other boys,” she said at last.

“None of my other boys would have said no to an offer like yours. But you may have seen his determination. His pride. He despises being a rent boy but he believes that if he _has_ to be one, he wants to be a very good one. He was fifteen years old when he came to me asking for work. His mother was dying. He wanted to buy medicine for her, and there was only one thing he had to sell.”

Victor looked to the ground without seeing the pattern on the carpet. He felt sick at the thought of it. His own privileged life ran by before his inner eye. Fifteen. So young. Years later, Yuuri was still here, selling his body. Bile rose in his throat.

“He is smart.” Victor looked at Minako again. “Literate. He could be so many things.”

“In your society of imperial racism, Lord Nikiforov?” Minako asked, the challenge unmasked. “Everyone can see he is a half. Everyone can see from one look at him that his mother was an English Lord’s whore and never any more. No, she was lower than a whore because she was not even paid for her services. They will never accept him. And he will never be accepted in Japan. His mother’s family were _samurai._ She was dead to them the day she shamed them by becoming a foreigner’s concubine.”

“ _I_ accept him,” Victor said. “For everything that he is.”

Minako wrote something on a piece of paper that was lying on her desk. She folded it quickly into a small square that remained lying on the table in front of her.

“Then you are either a fool or a better man than most, Lord Nikiforov.”

She heaved a deep sigh. “When I came to this country I was no more than an English Lord’s concubine myself. He lured me here with promises of a new world. I owe this house to him but I was never more than that, an exotic concubine. He never planned on giving me a place in his world. These boys, they are like the children I was never allowed to have. Street rats. Strays. Halves. Unwanted byproducts of the British Empire exploring new trade routes. I try to keep them safe as much as is possible in our circles. Yuuri is proud and stubborn. But I believe even he can see what you have to offer.”

“I…” Victor started but she raised one hand to cut him off.

It filled Victor with hope.

“When first I saw you I believed you were a lonely man with romantic notions. I have since made enquiries about you, and I believe there is more to you than meets the eye. You can be adamant and stubborn when you have set your mind on something, everyone tells me so. This reminds me of someone I know.”

A small understanding smile passed between them across her desk.

“I wish I could find better lives for all my boys, but I cannot deny that losing one means severe financial loss on my account. I am sure you understand that I have a certain living standard to keep up. I love these boys, but this is also a business.”

“Of course.” Victor nodded.

“You have patience, I believe, Lord Nikiforov?”

Another nod.

“Good. You may need it.”

Victor rose from his seat when Minako did and rounded her desk to see him out.

“Should he change his mind, Lord Nikiforov…” She slipped him the folded up paper very discreetly. “This is my price.”

_& & &_

On the fourteenth night, Yuuri did not come to Victor.

Victor lay awake all night, tossing and turning, aching for Yuuri and forcing himself to stay away.

Reminding himself of Minako’s words.

_& & &_

On the fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth day, Yuuri avoided Victor in the house.

_& & &_

On the fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth night, Yuuri did not come to Victor either.

_& & &_

On the nineteenth night, Victor was woken by the presence of a warm body in his bed.

It was a fierce, passionate encounter, lips and hands cherishing his whole body, every touch so well placed as if his body had been mapped and memorised to be found and reclaimed even in the darkest night. He felt guided, guarded, gave himself until he was trembling under the pleasant weight of a body he wanted to be buried under for the rest of his life, shivering and spilling until he was completely spent and still reborn.

There was a whisper in the dark, so soft that it seemed to come from another world.

“I am yours if you will still have me.”

Sated, enchanted, Victor lay in the dark night long after he was alone again, hugging Yuuri’s quiet and much longed for consent to his pounding heart.

_& & &_

On the twentieth day, Yuuri was free.

Reading the desperate visit of the night before as Yuuri’s silent approval after days of stewing in his own anger and pride, Victor had gone to see Minako first thing in the morning. He had carried a more than generous sum of money and a case with a selection of his late mother’s finest jewellery on his way in, and a small trunk of Yuuri’s belongings on his way out.

When Yuuri rose at his usual hour and joined him for a late breakfast in the salon, his eyes fell first on the trunk and then on Victor, and he cried, and he laughed at the same time, and Victor swore he would never let this laughter fall silent in his house again.

They stood by the door of what was now Yuuri’s room, overseeing the servants moving furniture around to Yuuri’s taste and unpacking his few belongings. A small desk was carried in and placed next to the armchair before the window so Yuuri would have daylight for his reading, his writing.

A smaller room leading off from the bedroom now had the iron-footed bathtub that Yuuri had become so fond of set up in it permanently.

Occasionally their fingers would brush where they dropped their hands by their sides between them. They both knew it was never accidental.

_& & &_

On the twentieth night, Victor leaned back in the bathtub with Yuuri in his lap, his cock buried deep inside the heat of Yuuri’s body with his arms wound tight around Yuuri’s chest while the scented water lapped quietly between them, rose petals dancing on the surface to their joined bodies’ tune. Their bodies threw shadows on the walls in the light of countless candles, moving with them in their own rhythm. Quiet moans and panting filled the room, sweeter than music, promises fulfilled.

On the twentieth night, Yuuri kissed Victor on the mouth.

_& & & _

On the twenty-first day, one of Victor’s maidservants spread a new rumour in the market that her master had fallen deeply in love with a woman from the continent and was courting her with letters and presents and visits as much as his time allowed. In a city where his love for another man was considered sodomy and could land him in jail, his household staff would go to any lengths to protect their young master.

_& & & _

On the twenty-first night, they kissed.

They kissed cautiously, getting to know the taste and texture of one another, and how to breathe through one’s nose, and how to angle one’s head, and when to come up for air.

They kissed passionately, open mouths clashing and lips bruising until the room rang with loud, wet sounds.

They kissed playfully, teasing and testing, chasing each other until lips missed their aim and they started giggling and hands carded through tousled hair and pawed blushing faces.

They kissed softly, tongues dipping slowly between lightly parted lips to find the eagerly waiting lick of a mate and moving in a slow, needy dance until sighs became loud and hearts drummed louder in their chests.

They kissed until the sun came up and they fell asleep, so closely entangled that there was no beginning and no end to either of them.

_& & &_

On the twenty-second day, Yuuri spoke of his father.

“I do not know much of him,” he admitted as they sat together on the ottoman in the library, their current favourite volume of poetry momentarily forgotten in Yuuri’s lap as he leaned back into Victor’s embrace.

“My mother said he came to Japan to work out trade for the British. Her family received a delegation. She said she fell in love with him at first sight. He was a tall, dark-haired man with a dazzling smile. She said he had a rather prominent scar across the right side of his face, which gave him an adventurous aura that she felt attracted to.”

Victor’s hands had taken to gently caressing the hands in Yuuri’s lap as if for encouragement.

“He promised her a life of freedom, in England. Free from the restraints of her family. So she went with him.”

Yuuri sighed.

“She… tried not to speak badly of him to me. But my opinion of him is quite firm. He did not take care of her once he had brought her here. And when she was with child, he threw her aside like a piece of trash. She could have killed herself. She was raised to kill herself at the loss of honour. She chose to live. She chose me.”

His voice faded out, like all the words had gone from him.

“And I am glad she did,” Victor said into the quiet of the room and wrapped his arms tight around Yuuri from behind. “I am so very glad, my Yuuri. She could not know it but by choosing you, she saved _my_ life, too.”

_& & &_

On the twenty-seventh day, Yuuri kept Victor company in his study, quietly reading while Victor worked on correspondence at his desk. Time and again Yuuri would look up from his book and stare at a map displayed on the wall. He waited for a pause in the fine scratching of Victor’s pen on the paper before he spoke.

“This is Japan.”

Victor looked up from his writing and followed Yuuri’s eyes to the map on the wall.

“Yes.” He cocked his head. “Do you know much about your mother’s country, Yuuri?”

Yuuri pursed his lips in thought. He crinkled his brows.

“I have always found my mother’s stories to be ambivalent,” he finally said. “The pictures she painted for me made me imagine a strictly organised society where you were expected to bow and mind your place. She went against every societal order when she fell in love with a foreigner. _gaijin_ , she called him. I cannot find much sympathy in me for a society who would cut her out so completely for that. I know she told me stories that were meant to harden my heart and warn me that I would never have a place in that world. At the same time, she was never able to mask how homesick she felt. When she told me about the cherry blossoms and the hot springs… there was that wistful smile on her face and that faraway glance in her eyes. Like for those moments, she travelled back home.”

Victor had put down his pen and crossed his arms in front of him on the desk, listening to Yuuri.

“A few years ago there was an exhibition, here in London,” he said. “About Japanese culture.”

Yuuri nodded. “Minami and I snuck in…” The way he lowered his head told Victor it was not quite the truth. “We wanted to know more about the land our mothers came from.”

Victor waited for a long moment before he dared.

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri looked up.

“You did not sneak in, did you?”

A faint blush snuck over Yuuri’s face as he shook his head. “The man wanted… a favour.”

Nausea spread from Victor’s stomach into every part of his body. He wondered if it would ever stop, this sickness that overcame him when he thought about Yuuri’s life before him.

“He actually wanted Minami to… touch him. But Minami was so young. I could not let him.”

Victor gritted his teeth for a moment, disgusted with people and the world they lived in.

“It was a long time ago.”

He looked up at Yuuri’s words and found him frowning, clearly confused by his angry expression.

Victor shook his head to clear his mind but he knew he would never be able to shake off Yuuri’s past completely.

_& & &_

On the thirty-first day, Victor asked Christophe to draw up legal papers of identification for Yuuri.

“What else are all my studies of the law good for otherwise?” Christophe winked at Yuuri across the massive desk in Victor’s study.

Yuuri watched him quietly, eyes blinking from time to time behind his glasses. Beside him, Victor was watching everything Christophe did with great interest and concentration.

“What will your name be?” Christophe asked.

Yuuri looked distant. “I… do not care much for names. I have been just Yuuri for so long.”

Silence reigned for a long while, the grandfather clock in the corner ticking away.

“What was your mother’s name, Yuuri?” Victor asked at last.

The usual shadow that the mention of Yuuri’s mother always brought ghosted over his face.

“Katsuki.” He said it very softly, after another long pause.

Christophe nodded. “Can you write this down for me, please? I want to make sure to write it correctly.”

Yuuri nodded and took the pen and paper Christophe offered. He spelt out the letters meticulously, the fountain pen scratching lightly on the paper.

“This is strange,” he commented wistfully as he watched the ink losing its sheen as it dried. “Writing it like this. My mother would show me how it was written in her language. I remember practising it all throughout my childhood. But ever since she died, I have not written the characters of her name again. I wonder whether I am still able to.”

“You can always learn again,” Victor remarked quietly.

Yuuri cast him a grateful smile.

Christophe nodded as he took the sheet from Yuuri. “So your papers will make you Yuuri Katsuki?”

“I suppose.” Yuuri gave a non-committal shrug. “I do not know what my mother’s family in Japan would make of me using their name. They cast her out for carrying on with a _gaijin_ , and they would probably have killed her before having me. They will not care for me. I have told you the little I know of the man who fathered me. I have no place in either of their worlds.”

Victor reached for his hand and held it tight between both of his.

“You will always have a place in mine, my Yuuri.”

_& & &_

On the fortieth day, Yuuri started etiquette lessons.

There was not a lot he did not know, for Minako had trained her boys very well in the fine arts and table manners. Victor’s butler had but to add some small details regarding the right place and order of more pieces of cutlery than Yuuri had ever seen in his life, even at the dinner parties Minako held.

“Not that you will ever need them,” Victor commented from the doorway were was watching, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I never entertain. But perhaps I would like to show my esteemed Japanese business partner Mr Katsuki an opera performance some day, or a poetry reading, and we may dine out.”

Yuuri was so flustered after Victor’s words that he messed up all the spoons and had to start over.

_& & &_

On the fifty-third night, their Japanese lesson took place in bed.

It had Victor blushing and laughing breathlessly as Yuuri taught him words for body parts and actions that involved them that Victor knew he would never ever need, nor use outside this very room.

_& & &_

On the sixty-fifth day, Yuuri was recognised by a former client as they took a quiet evening stroll in Hyde Park. They had been conversing politely with their arms crossed behind their backs and their gazes carefully avoiding each other when the man crossed their path and paused abruptly, addressing Yuuri by his first name. Victor felt the instant panic as Yuuri immediately went still and stiff beside him.

Yuuri’s eyes blinked with confusion behind his glasses. In his fine English suit and hat he looked no different from any other occasional Japanese visitor that could be spotted around London these days.

Yuuri and Victor spoke quietly to each other in Japanese, like they had practiced should this moment ever arise. Then Victor turned to face the man, putting himself between him and Yuuri strategically.

“I should be very surprised if you did indeed know Mr Katsuki,” Victor very calmly addressed the man, who was still leering at Yuuri with barely masked salacity.

“Oh come now, Nikiforov.” The man gave Victor’s shoulder a jovial pat like one would give a good friend one shares a dirty joke with. Victor took a step back, his expression becoming more icy.

“No need to be ashamed, we have all had a bit of fun at a certain establishment now and then.” The man winked obscenely.

Yuuri said something in rapid Japanese, like any honest foreign businessman who found himself treated with disrespect in a strange country. Victor nodded, then turned to the man again.

“Mr Katsuki only arrived in London from Japan this very morning.” Every single one of his words was poised to cut like a knife. “I believe you must be mistaking him for someone else, for he has never set foot on British soil before, and it would be rather improper and discrediting our very country if he was met with anything but respect on his first business journey, would it not?”

The man had sobered up with every one of Victor’s words. He gave Yuuri one last taxing glance, then lowered his gaze and muttered something rude about “those Asians all looking the bloody same”.

Yuuri fired off another salve of Japanese, and Victor had to bite his lips, knowing it was all rudest insults.

The man looked up and murmured a gruff apology before he finally went on his way.

They looked at each other, finally allowing themselves to breathe out before they altered the course of their walk directly home. The moment the doors closed behind them and the safety of Victor’s home engulfed them once more, they were in each other’s arm, laughing yet trembling at the same time, from nerves, and amusement, and sheer and utter relief.

_& & &_

On the eighty-eighth day, Yuuri looked up from the letters Christophe made him write as part of their etiquette lessons. Christophe was teaching Yuuri all the qualities he would need as a secretary, among them proper correspondence.

“Christophe…” Yuuri looked around Christophe’s desk but could not find what he was looking for.

“Yuuri?”

“Could I perhaps borrow some of the blue sealing wax?” Yuuri’s eyes sparkled.

Christophe’s jaw dropped, and he fought for composure for a moment.

“Yuuri. You do know about the significance of the colour of sealing wax,” he started.

Yuuri nodded. “You taught me, in my lessons. Please forgive me for intruding on such a… delicate matter, but I distinctly remember Phichit receiving letters sealed with rich blue wax, and from the way he always hid those letters under his shirt as if he was carrying them close to his heart until he was quite alone and in peace to break the seal and read them, I assumed they were from you.”

“They were,” Christophe admitted.

A smile pursed Yuuri’s lips.

“If it is not asking too much and you still have some of that sealing wax left…” He paused.

“Will you be needing it for a special purpose, Yuuri?” Christophe, too, was smiling now. He was already reaching for one drawer in his desk, reaching for something hidden at the very back, safely out of sight.

Yuuri’s smile deepened. “The best of purposes,” he said.

_& & &_

On the two-hundred-and-twenty-seventh day, a note fell into Victor’s hands when they first moved the small trunk again since it had come into their house with Yuuri’s few belongings.

“What is this?”

An adorable blush tinted Yuuri’s cheeks as he recognised the slip of paper.

“This is the note I wrote to Minako a long time ago.”

Victor handed the note to him. “I had best give this back to you then to keep safe.”

Yuuri shook his head. “I know what it says. I guess Minako put it in my trunk for the purpose of you finding it some day.”

“Me?” Victor’s eyes widened with surprise, and perhaps a little confused.

“Perhaps she wanted you to know what I asked her for back then.”

Under Yuuri’s quiet gaze, Victor unfolded the note.

_Minako-sensei,_

_Forgive me._

_I was meant to be back yesterday but I could not bring myself to leave. I have made this selfish decision on my own and I beg you for forgiveness for doing so without your consent._

_Before you think wrong of your client - it is my wish to stay. Mine alone._

~~_Victor_~~ _Lord Nikiforov, he does not know. I believe he is not aware of the arrangement you made with Lord Giacometti. He believes my being here is still on Lord Giacometti’s tab._

_Minako-sensei, he is so very kind. He treats me well. I have everything I could ask for and more. I am fed and warm, I have books to read and a room of my own. He does not force himself on me. He does not demand anything I do not wish to give. I do not have to feel this constant fear of illness and disease being passed on to me I feel with every client._

_For the first time since_ okaasan _died, I feel safe._

_I have never asked anything of you since that day I came to you asking for work._

_But I am asking you now._

_I will find a way to reimburse you for the days you are losing out on income without my services._

_I am begging you, Minako-sensei, to please release me._

_Even if I came back to work for you, I would do so without heart, soul, or life._

_They would always stay behind in this house here._

_Yuuri_

Victor looked up from the note, crying.

“So soon, my Yuuri,” he said and reached for him with one hand until Yuuri stepped into his arms and wrapped his arms around Victor’s neck while Victor’s arms came around Yuuri’s waist, still holding the note in his hand. “You knew so soon. That you were mine.”

“Just like you did,” Yuuri replied, smiling brightly. “You loved me so soon as well, did you not?”

“My Yuuri.” Victor’s smile was wide and heart-shaped. “I fear I loved you even sooner.”

_& & &_

_~_ _Epilogue ~_

On the three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth day, Victor found an unexpected letter among his mail.

His heart started beating faster when he saw the rich blue seal.

Yuuri had left him after breakfast when the mail was brought in, a weird blush tinting his cheeks, which Victor had put down to the excitement of getting to play with the poodle puppy they had newly acquired in celebration of their anniversary.

Victor found his hands slightly trembling as he broke the seal very carefully and unfolded the thick wad of many pages, all of them filled with Yuuri’s neat handwriting.

The morning sun caught for a moment in the slim golden ring on his right hand, the meaning of which only two people in the whole world knew. One hand clasped before his mouth, he began to read.

_My dearest Victor,_

_You will be surprised to find me writing to you, when we see each other every day. But correspondence is part of my etiquette lessons, and what better day for you to receive this letter than today._

_Exactly one year ago today, I first came to this house._

_I did not expect that one year later, I would still be here. That I would still share your nights, but also your days. That I would miss you every moment I cannot be by your side. That we would have the sweetest puppy. And that I would carry a golden ring you gave me on my finger. I know it makes you sad that I take it off whenever I leave the house, but you know the world out there does not take kindly to people like us, and I will rather carry it close to my heart in the breast pocket of my suit when I leave the house than draw anyone’s attention to the fact that you and I wear matching golden rings._

_You do not know that I spend a lot of time looking at my hand with your ring on it. I like how it makes me see that I am yours._

_I let you believe that I have wanted to be yours since those early days when I wrote to Minako-sensei that I did not want to come back but stay with you. I fear I have not been completely honest with you. For the truth is this:_

_I already wanted to be yours before I knew you._

_This will sound odd to you. To make you understand, I will to tell you a little story._

_One day Phichit and I were snooping around Minako-sensei’s study. She was in there with Lord Giacometti (whom I shall refer to as Christophe here from now on, but at that time he was still Lord Giacometti to me) for a long time, and Phichit was excited. He was so wishing for Christophe to release him, and that this was why he had come to see Minako. When we knew the study to be empty we sneaked inside, looking for the papers. Phichit was so happy, saying how he would hide the fact that he already knew and be the best he had ever been for Christophe that night, so that he would never regret his choice._

_I will never forget the bitter disappointment on Phichit’s face when we found the papers. (I can say this almost without sadness now because Phichit has been free and very happy with Christophe for some time, as you know, of course.)_

_Christophe’s agreement was not about Phichit._

_He was asking for the services of a boy for his friend._

_One week in which his friend was to be taught all aspects of physical pleasure._

_Minako likes everything in details. There were so many details written there._

_It said Christophe’s friend was young, beautiful (that was truly what was written there, I am not adding it here to flatter you!), wealthy. Lonely, too. Inexperienced. It listed other details too that were part of the agreement. A big house. A room of his own for the rent boy. Daily baths. A library. Days to spend at his own leisure. Just a couple of hours of work every night._

_And at this moment I decided that I wanted to be this boy. I wanted to have this job. Now we know that Christophe likes to exaggerate sometimes, so I did not expect too much with regard to his friend being beautiful. But I decided that I was going to put on my best suit and to look my best, and that I would be reading a book when this man first saw me because surely, someone who has a library must notice a person with a book in their hands. I was going to make this job mine. My only hope was for this man to be at least a little bit handsome and kind. So you see, how I was already yours before we met._

_Then you walked into the room, and something strange happened inside me._

_You were very beautiful indeed. But not just on the outside. On the inside too. I felt it right away. You were so shy and polite when you first spoke to me. Like no lord had ever addressed a mere rent boy._

_I did not expect this. I did not expect you._

_You are an odd one, was what I thought at first. Something seemed curious. Surely there was something wrong with someone as young and beautiful as you and still inexperienced._

_Phichit and I would sometimes pretend to be untouched when clients demanded so. We would laugh about it afterwards, make fun of their insecurities. It made us feel powerful. We never got to feel powerful in what we did otherwise._

_I am ashamed about my behaviour now, I was so after just one night with you. After the first night with you, when I came to know you and your touching innocence, and your nervousness, and the sheer beauty that was you discovering the joys of pleasure and intimacy. It felt so wrong to mock those feelings. And I did not feel powerful with you. I felt humbled and perhaps a little proud that I was the person to see a man like you like this. Most of all I felt I wanted to take care of you and make sure to treat all your sentiments with utmost kindness. They were precious. Like you._

_I always knew I would be with you for one week only. I had seven nights to spend with you._

_I tried to teach you everything I knew. But you surprised me so many times._

_Each and every one of your reactions was so precious. I always wanted to go one step further with you than I went with anyone else. I wanted to see your next reaction. All the way until the seventh night. You never asked for more than what I was willing to give. And that made me want to give you everything. And for the first time ever, I felt pleasure about something I had been doing out of necessity for too long._

_You touched me, and not just physically. Not just in the nights._

_You paid attention. This shocked me. I was not used to someone noticing when I was cold, or hungry. Not since my mother died, and she, even though she noticed, was not always able to keep me fed and warm. So I was very surprised to find food so I would not be hungry, or extra blankets so I would not be cold. I was surprised to be allowed free use of your library, and when you asked me to read poetry with you._

_You broke the walls I had erected around myself, and you broke them with kindness, with sweetness, and then with your stubborn determination that even my own stubbornness could not compete with, even though I tried for five miserable days and five very, very lonely nights._

_Did it never strike you as fascinating that Christophe, who moves so confidently in the world and who was so comfortable coming to see Phichit at least once a week over months never found the courage in himself to buy Phichit free? Not until his seemingly shy and innocent friend just went ahead and set an example. That is how strong you are._

_When you made me cry by reading me poetry, I knew I loved you. I had let you in._

_On our sixth night, I asked you to pleasure me thinking that it would be my second to last night with you, ever. I had already decided that the next night, I would let you have what nobody else had had before. I already knew that I was going to give myself to you. So on this second to last night, I wanted to have all your touches, all your caresses, all you had to give so that I could take it with me and treasure always, and that I could replace the touch of every other man I would have to endure with yours, if only in my mind._

_On our last night, I was going to give myself to you because I did not want anyone else to have this._

_On our last night, I knew for a fact that you loved me too, and that I would not go back._

_Did you notice how I stopped wearing that dressing gown as soon as the week was over? I felt like I was able to leave the job behind with the garment and to just be yours. How my heart skipped in my chest when you first called me that! How my heart skipped again when we read poems to each other in the night once more, saying all we could not say except with our eyes and verse. And when I made you laugh. And when I saw how you took me serious._

_You saw no disgrace in my foreign eyes, my dark hair, my exotic features. You saw_ me _. Even more so: you allowed me to see myself through your eyes. I was overwhelmed when I realised that you were willing to give me what I never had and what I believed someone like me had no right to achieve._

_You gave me a place in the world. You gave me safety. And freedom. And a purpose. And something to do that has actual meaning and is not filthy and frowned upon. And a name. And a home. And yourself._

_I am so grateful for this first year I got to spend with you. I am so looking forward to all the years to come._

_You make me the happiest I know I am ever going to be. Sometimes I wonder if all the hardships I had to endure in my life were a test. A very long bridge I had to cross until I found you on the other side._

_You gave me someone to want to share my life with, someone to love. And what a beautiful, kind, special someone you gave me. What a sensual someone to share my nights with. So many wonderful nights. I felt that I was learning everything new about pleasure myself when I was teaching you. How wonderful all this is when it is not a job that disgusted me! You see, you, too, taught me something in the bedroom._

_This time last year, I was getting ready to hopefully achieve the most important job of my life._

_We did not know it then but I know it now, and I am sure you know, too._

_I was yours, just like you were mine, the moment you walked through the door that first evening._

_And I was so afraid._

_Waiting to kiss you were the longest twenty days of my entire life._

_I am, and always will be_

_Your Yuuri_


End file.
